


Obviously

by Lestradesexwife



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the fourth challenge of Let's write Sherlock... 1895 ending in Obviously.</p><p>This spawned itself in my brain this afternoon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obviously

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_xmasmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/gifts), [GalaxySong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxySong/gifts).



> Possibly too cheesy to live, and unbeta'd so please don't murder me.

They’ve known each other for ages, before this. Q’s been with Sherlock for most of their grown lives. He’s a proper genius himself, so he expects to understand Sherlock, hasn’t understood why Sherlock is so nervous about letting Q into his mind.

 

“I’ve seen you, I know you. It will be fine. We can do this, we can save the world.” Q smiles when he says it, rubs his fingers over Sherlock’s palm. “You can’t get rid of me this easily, this is nothing compared to the time you blew up the flat.”

 

“You _are_ an idiot.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

****

He’d suggested this because it is the ultimate challenge. The potential for triumph, the rest of the Jaeger pilots see only a giant monster, Sherlock sees an invasion, a plan. Something not-human and he can _outthink it._ The level of technology, the sheer force of will required to cross dimensions and space. This is something worthy of his full attention. 

 

He’d been horrified when the full nature of the drift was explained to them on intake, but by then it was too late to turn back. The horror turned to fear and deep sadness, perhaps Q would stay long enough to help him defeat the kaiju. For the sake of humanity and the greater good, things that Q held dear... surely that would be enough to counterweight the depravities that exist inside Sherlock’s mind.

 

There are parts of Sherlock’s mind that he hides from Q, things that they have never discussed, beyond Q’s seemingly natural desire to protect Sherlock from himself and the reactions of others to his deductions. Parts of Sherlock that he knows will make Q want to rip off the harness and run for the hills. He hides them out of fear that Q will leave, and out of the horror that Q might understand. That he will find those parts of himself reflected back, that they are both this damaged and that is why, or _how_ Q stays. Because how could someone normal and sane see these things and not be repulsed, driven away and into hiding. Sherlock clings to the notion that he is high-functioning, he’s able to mimic the natural processes and he’s done it well enough that he’s managed to keep Q at his side. _So far._

 

They passed through the intake, the physical tests and the fight training with ease. Everyone always underestimates Q, but only once. They’d been assigned to Panama, given a generic Jaeger to make their own. Sherlock tries the day they are given their assignment, to push Q away. Turning suddenly cold, trying to prepare them both for the rejection that must come with their first drift. 

 

Like so many of Sherlock’s emotional tactics it backfires, Q doesn’t coddle him, but he makes it clear that Sherlock isn’t going to push him away. Not when they were so close to their goals. Sherlock flinches, reminded that Q wanted this as well. He isn’t alone in needing to prove himself. 

 

****

The night before their first drift he tried again. Q had taken hold of him, pulled him close in their bunk and made him look into his eyes. “I know what you are trying to do. It won’t work. I’m not afraid, and I shouldn’t be. I _know you._ You git. You don’t think I do, but... trust me please. This won’t work if you don’t trust me. I can handle you.”

 

They’d fallen asleep, eventually, like that. Foreheads pressed together, and neither of them could remember breaking eye contact when they woke. 

 

The drift is scheduled for after lunch, and they have briefings and final suit checks. All the things that would make sure they had the best chances of a successful drift. Even though it is only the dry run, making sure that they can control the Jaeger, before they can be sent out to battle kaiju. 

 

Sherlock watches Q, soaking up as much data as he can before the drift. Sorting as many memories as he can into permanent storage. If Q does leave him after this, he doesn’t think he could bear to delete an instant of their time together. _Sentiment._  

 

******

 

The harnesses are too far apart for physical contact between the pilots. He can’t hold Q’s hand while the tech in the control room joins their minds. He’s surprised when it doesn’t hurt, he’d thought it was going to be invasive, like a drill entering a tooth. Instead it is like sliding under the covers of their bed, sliding into the warm space beside Q. Being pulled close until he becomes part of Q.

 

He’d thought he was going to remain separate, that he would be outside of himself and that Q would be beside and inside him. Every description they’d been made to listen to described it as something like dreaming. Being aware of your physical self, and inhabiting a collection of memories and sense experiences. He can feel their Jaeger, and Q, and he has a brief moment of panic that he can no longer feel himself before the warmth of Q’s presence settles over him. And then they are in their bed, he can feel the weight of Q’s body, the warmth of their skin pressed together and the tiny trickles of sweat that pool between them. 

 

Q reaches up and presses a finger to Sherlock’s forehead. : _There’s nothing here that I didn’t already know. You aren’t a monster, you only behave like one sometimes._ : 

 

Q turns his head and Sherlock _feels/hears/knows_ that Q is speaking aloud. “We are fine, just give us a moment.” The alarms that Sherlock had thought were hallucinations stop sounding, and they curl tighter against each other. 

 _:We can’t stay here forever.:_ Q kisses him and rolls their hips together. _:But we don’t need to. We can do this, we are going to be brilliant.:_

 

They _shift_ , Q nestles against Sherlock’s side, his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. They _slide_ forward, filling their frame of reference with the physical world. It is real enough, they glide through the motions of systems checks and learning how to control their Jaeger. There is so much time in the drift, so much space. Sherlock can feel the edges of his fear being smoothed away, Q doesn’t dismiss them, he holds each one up for Sherlock to see, twists them in the light of their combined minds and watches as the crumble. Egyptian mummies exposed to light and oxygen, disintegrating into carbon and dust.

 

Sherlock doesn’t need Q, not for the things Sherlock thinks he does. Q isn’t some magical barrier between Sherlock and the world, he isn’t holding Sherlock back. Q makes Sherlock whole, not because Sherlock is less without him but because they are more together. 

 

_:Ridiculous sentiment.:_

 

_:But true, I’m better with you too.:_

 

****

They’d been warned, and both had been relieved to hear it. That the drift doesn’t end with the termination of the neural handshake. The married pilots had been almost painfully graphic in their descriptions of the post-drift period. They warned that it took adjustment, that there would be awkward moments. That they wouldn’t be expected to do much after their first few drifts, that there would be a honeymoon period. They would need to remember to communicate outside the drift. None of them seemed to believe that Sherlock and Q would make it through the drift... all the advice had been offered with a layer of disbelief. He’d wished that it was simple homophobia, but hadn’t let that hope colour his knowledge... They didn’t think he was capable of the emotional connection necessary to create and maintain a drift. They kept repeating the same words over and over in the hopes of scaring Q, or shaking sense into him. Sherlock closed his eyes and hoped that they managed it.

 

When the tech released the handshake, and it hadn’t ended, the sense of connection hadn’t broken; Sherlock let out a sigh, all the pent up fear draining from him. They’d been wrong, _he’d been wrong._  

 

********

 

The decontamination shower is ridiculous, they hadn’t even left the hanger. Red Queen is diesel not nuclear, but base Command, and the regulations mandated a scrub down after every drift. Sherlock wasn’t going to complain too loudly, the heat from the engines and the Central American humidity combined with the drive suit made showering less of a chore and more of a blessing. He’d never been much for body modesty, and he didn’t even mind being debriefed in the shower room. Smirking at Q over his shoulder as the medtech stood with her back turned while they stand under the spray. Her litany of drift side effects and warning signs pitched to carry over the sound of the water against tiles.

 

They crash together, behind the closed door of their room. Finally free of bureaucrats and medtechs alike. Restrained for only the length of time it takes to gently remove Q’s glasses and place them on the room’s sorry excuse for a desk. Impossible gentleness, despite the need for contact. Teeth, tongues, lips, fingers, cocks and even eyelashes. They touch. The sum total of every time they have touched before this, every passing glance from the moment they met until now and now and _now_. Matched choked off apologies, lamentations for all the moments before they met, wasted. Certainly between them they are capable of inventing time travel, Sherlock’s older, but they could fix that. 

 

“Or, we could just... talk. If that is what you call it in the drift.” 

 

“ _Boring_.” Sherlock’s lips break from Q’s skin just long enough to let the word loose. : _Hateful that we can’t drift all the time. How dare they give us this and take it away again?:_

 

Q arches under him, digging fingernails into the skin of Sherlock’s shoulders. “They didn’t bring us together, they can’t take us apart.” The barriers of skin and bone, the need he feels to have Sherlock inside him, to possess and be possessed. 

 

They shift and morph around each other, never settling into one configuration for long. Relearning their bodies, remembering the sensation of the other’s lips and fingers trailing over their skin. Holding fast the ghost of knowledge, the memory of touches given and received. The merging of sensations. 

 

They slide into sleep, dream and wake together. Q decides that it wasn’t sleep, or dreams. Sherlock stops his discourse on the effects of drift with teeth and tongue, twines their fingers. Knuckles white they cling together, riding waves of pleasure that roll between them. 

 

This time it is truly sleep.

 

*******

 

“You thought I would leave?” Q’s trying to keep the hurt from his voice, Sherlock would have heard it, even before the drift.

 

“Everyone did, eventually, before.” He’s aware of the depth of his mistake now. The myriad of ways that Q is different from everyone before him. Even Mycroft, especially Mycroft. He curls, resting his head against Q’s chest, inhaling the scent of them on his skin, pressing his ear close to hear Q’s heartbeat. It probably isn’t exactly matched in his own chest, frustrating that he can’t hear them at the same time to be sure.

 

Q’s fingers tangle in his hair, soothing. _Right, this is right._ “You know I won’t. Now.”

 

Sherlock’s fingers tighten, pulling them not-close-enough _:Not now, not ever. I know.:_

 

“Yes, Obviously.”

 


End file.
